Without Her
by pearlsandpeonies
Summary: A one-shot centered around what happens to John when Claire is gone. Terrible title, terrible summary, excellent story?


"Claire, please don't, please." John said, biting his lip to keep the tears from falling.

"John, you know I can't." Claire said, her face stone-like.

"Claire, come on, what about the kids? What am I supposed to do when they wake up in the morning and their mother is gone?"

"I'll come back tomorrow and explain the situation to them."

"Stop, don't do this, please Claire, please, I can't do this without you." John reached out a hand and tentatively touched her arm.

"Do what?" Claire snapped, slapping his arm away.

"Nothing. Just go."

"John, it's not that I don't love you. I hope you know that. You can still tell me anything."

"Really Claire? It's not that you don't love me? You just conveniently decided that you can't be happy for me and my opportunities before you start bitching that I don't give you enough freedom to have your own opportunities? Because that is bull fucking shit and you know it!"

"John," Claire began, before she was cut off by a hand in front of her face.

"Just go." John said, sitting on the bed and placing his head in his hands.

Claire picked up her bag and hoisted it on her shoulder.

"Bye." she said.

"I love you." John whispered into his hands. She didn't hear him.

xxxxxx

"Hello, is a Mr. Bender there?" a gruff voice said into the phone. It was three in the morning and John hadn't been able to sleep at all. Claire had just left and he knew that she wasn't going to come back.

"Yes, this is he." John replied.

"This is the Shermer police. I'm calling concerning your wife, Claire Bender?"

"Yes, she's my wife, what's going on?" John said. His entire body went stiff and he knew.

"Claire was in an accident. I'm sorry to tell you this, but she's in a terrible coma, and it is likely that she won't pull through. We would like you to come down to the hospital."

"Of, of course officer. I'll be there." John said, hanging up the phone. For a moment, he sat there in disbelief. She's going to die, he thought. She's going to die and she wouldn't have even left if it weren't for me.

He didn't let himself cry. He felt that he didn't deserve to cry when he had driven her away from him, her kids, her home.

So, he did what any other person in the situation would do. He grabbed the navy blue sweater he had worn to work the day before and pulled it on over his white t-shirt and red plaid pajama pants. He jammed his feet into the boat shoes Claire had forced him to buy for work. He had taken quite a liking to them.

He first went into his daughter Emma's room. He kissed the top of her head, smelling her hair. The six year old had long red hair, the same shade as Claire's. "I love you," he whispered into her scarlet locks.

Then, he went into Walker's room. He was only three, but looked like the baby version on John. He had insisted on growing his hair long, like John's. John still wore his hair the same way he had in high school, at Claire's insisting. She had loved his hair. He kissed Walker's head then left the house, grabbing his keys and his cell phone.

He knocked on the neighbor's door, and explained the situation. The neighbor, a fellow parent, agreed to come over and sit with the kids until he returned.

The drive over to the hospital was terrible. It wasn't until he pulled into the parking lot that it hit him. His wife was dead. Well, would likely be dead. But he still had to go through the motions. So, he entered the hospital, gave his name and saw a police officer standing by the door to Claire's room. The officer wouldn't look at him, wouldn't give him any indication of what was going on.

The room was dimly lit, and Claire was lying in the hospital bed, lifeless. Her hair had been taken out of the ponytail it was in when she left, and her face was covered in cuts, her arms covered in bruises.

John walked over to her, kissed her forehead and pulled the chair over to the bed. And there he sat, holding her hand and telling her that he loved her over and over again until there was daylight, and until the monitors went stagnant and until the doctor came in and told him what he hoped he would never hear. Claire was dead.

xxxxxx

For the days leading up to the funeral, John wouldn't let himself cry. He couldn't, he still had two kids to raise. They only had one person left who could be strong for them. He had to wipe Emma's tears every morning when she woke up, crying for her mommy. He had to pack her lunch; he had to send her to school. Walker was even worse. He couldn't comprehend that his mother was gone. Every night, when John would put him to bed, he would say, "Daddy, don't turn off the light. Mommy still has to kiss me goodnight." And every night, John would explain to him that Mommy was gone. But he still didn't understand.

And in a way, neither did John. He had loved Claire more than humanly possible. It was so different for him to go to bed, without her laying there next to him. It was so strange to go to work every morning, after he had dropped Walker off at school and put Emma on the bus. It was terrible, and utterly heartbreaking to leave work and go to appointments to plan her funeral.

The other members of the Breakfast Club were coming, of course they were. But now, they were without a member. They were without the princess. And, John thought, what good was a criminal if there wasn't a princess to tame him and make him wear boat shoes?

xxxxxx

The funeral was held a week to the day of her death. John and the kids sat alone in the first pew. John sat in between them, hugging them to his chest, kissing their heads and willing himself not to cry. John didn't cry anymore. There was only one person he could cry in front of. And she was gone.

When the funeral was over, the funeral-goers all went to a reception in the Shermer High School library. John thought it was fitting that the place where they fell in love would also be the place where he said goodbye.

And there, in that library, which looked so eerily the same, but somehow different from that fateful day, John mingled with the guests, and ate finger foods and had kissed Claire's relatives and thanked them for coming.

The three people that he couldn't face where all standing in a corner, huddled together. Brian Johnson and Andrew and Allison Clark all stood together, unsure of what to say to John. So, they told each other stories about Claire and they smiled when they thought about her, but they cried too when they thought about her. And they vowed to go talk to John when all of the people were gone, and only the remaining four who mattered were all standing where it had all began.

xxxxxx

John had kissed the last guest goodbye and was cleaning up the trays of food when a pair of strong hands pushed him down into the chair he had sat in on March 24, 1984.

It was Andy.

"Please, Andy, I'm not in the mood." John said, as Brian and Allison walked over to their respective seats and sat down.

Andy sat too, and they all looked at John, who was staring at the table in front of him.

"John?" Brian tried. And then, all of a sudden, the big, scary criminal had broken down, and his shoulders were shaking softly and then, his sobs were becoming audible and the athlete and the brain and the basket-case all gathered around their criminal, mourning the loss of their princess.


End file.
